


A Night's Lull

by zarahjoyce



Series: A Long Night [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, almost, but not quite there yet, post ep 8x02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18616498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: "Will tonight be the end?""I don't know. But I swear to you, to defend you and our people I will fight until mine."





	A Night's Lull

Your halls are filled with varying degrees of this sort of melancholic mood, as though the walls itself await with bated breath on what is to come next.  
  
But what  _is_ to come next?   
  
Does anyone know?  
  
Will dawn still break upon you all tomorrow morning?   
  
Or will its light cast upon corpses of every man, woman, and child in this castle?  
  
You ponder on these questions as you walk along without any real sense of thought or purpose.  
  
There is fear in your veins, heady and heavy and  _hot_ , and you have no doubt all those around you feel it as you do.  
  
But it is as familiar to you now as breathing that, should you wish it, you can cast it aside as easily as anything.  
  
(and you  _do_.  
  
there is still much to be done, and it is your duty, as Lady, to see to it that they are accomplished.)

* * *

  
And now, they are.  
  
You sit near the fire; it is quiet, save for the occasional clanging of metal, and soldiers and wildlings hushedly speaking about in the courtyard. They have been fed; you have seen to it. They have been clothed and armed well; you have seen to it. You have made certain that all their needs have been met, before--  
  
\--well.   
  
_Before_.   
  
There is naught for you to do anymore, and so to hush your own trembling hands you reach for your half-brother's-- no,  _cousin's_ broken clothes, and you start mending it.  
  
As if all is normal.  
  
As if all is well.  
  
(you wonder if death will descend upon you swiftly, like a sword cutting through your neck in one bold stroke.  
  
or if it will be long, drawn out, like fire set upon your flesh.)  
  
Your stitchings are neat, methodical, even if your thoughts are not.  
  
Should you be with your sister now? But no; she cannot be found, and you have tried. Perhaps she will come to you in time; _before_. She ought to, you think.  
  
Should you be with your brother now? But he is taking his place elsewhere, just as you, yourself, should.  
  
But not yet.  
  
Not this moment yet.  
  
Not until--  
  
A knock pierces your reverie, and upon your answer it opens, revealing your half-brother--  _cousin_ , behind it.  
  
_Sansa._  
  
_Jon._  
  
You smile softly as he takes a seat near you.  _I had thought I won't get to see you before--_  
  
_\--before the end?_  
  
You lower his cloak to your lap.  _And will tonight_ be  _the end?_  
  
_I don't know._  
  
He takes a deep, trembling breath.  _But I swear to you, to defend you and our people I will fight until mine._  
  
You swallow, hard, and to your horror you feel tears in your eyes, thick and blinding.  _I don't doubt it._  
  
He reaches for your hand and squeezes it.  _When all else fails, I want you to go and run._  
  
_No._  
  
_Sansa--_  
  
_This is my home. This is_  our  _home. I will not be driven from it by anything, even death. Let it come when it comes. If our defenses are breached and the enemies descend upon us I will not be-- I refuse to be--_  
  
(the last surviving Stark.)  
  
He sighs, quiet and resigned.  _I should have known you will refuse._  
  
_Tell me. Did you ask the same from Arya?_  
  
_No._  
  
_Only me, then? Is it because I am not a fighter, like her? Like you?_  
  
_I had not the opportunity. I couldn't find her._  
  
That gets you to laugh.  _Nor can I._  
  
You both fall into a quiet, peaceful lull. You pick up his cloak again.  _Why aren't you with your queen?_  
  
_I thought--_  
  
You glance at him, found his face to reflect the confliction he surely must feel.  _I thought I should be with my family._  
  
And he looks upon you now to say these words:  _With those I truly love._  
  
Your heart constricts and there is a tightness in your throat; all at once you wish you have more time, more time,  _more time._  
  
But there is little of it left, and you both know it.  
  
You turn your hand so that you are clutching his.  _We will win this, Jon. We have to. We must._  
  
He says nothing, at first. And then he asks, quietly: _Do you trust me?_  
  
_Yes. Always, yes._

(that he had to ask is something that should insult you, but never does.)

And he rises to his feet, leans closer, and bestows upon your forehead a kiss. He drags his thumb across your cheek, gives you a small smile.  _Then I will see you tomorrow._  
  
_Of course_ , you say, smiling at him in return.  _Tomorrow_.

(perhaps. maybe.

 

 

if only.)


End file.
